


Getting to Know You

by avienexjel



Category: The Avengers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst/Fluff, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Rape, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:31:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6609070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avienexjel/pseuds/avienexjel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lots of people hate Tony Stark.  None more than Tony himself.  Avengers in high school AU in which everyone hates Tony and then they realize he's actually not so bad after all, and the masks he wears are what they are--masks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is scared. Mainly because he has to be stuck in a tent with four other guys. And Tony Stark. It always comes down to Tony Stark, doesn't it?
> 
> Tony officially hates Pietro just as much as Pietro hates Tony Stark.
> 
> Sarah Rogers feels sad.

  **-~-1-~-**

 

"Tony, Bruce, Steve, Clint, and Pietro in the second tent," Mr. Coulson's voice drones. At the sound of his name, Bruce's head snaps up. He pushes his crooked glasses up his nose, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He shrinks behind the desk as Steve Rogers, the most popular jock at Shield High, turns around in his seat to smile at Bruce. Bruce looks away.

The hiking trip is in two days, and there is nothing that he's dreading more. The only reason why Bruce had gotten his mother to sign the permission slip allowing him to go in the first place is because it's better than staying at home with Brian Banner. He feels guilty for leaving his mother alone to deal with the wrath of his father, but he needs a break. A break that will take him far, far away from the mess that is his home.

Bruce watches as none other than Tony Stark himself lazily twirls a pen around his fingers. The genius bites his lower lip and chews before scribbling what Bruce expects to be an idea for a new invention in his notebook. He wishes he didn't, but he has a bit of an obsession with Stark. The guy's papers on nuclear warfare from freshman year are absolutely fantastic, and Bruce has seen enough of his designs to know that Tony is brilliant, astonishingly brilliant.

The only problem is that Stark is also a self-absorbed, stuck-up asshole who likes to flaunt his wealth in everything he does. It's in the clothing--the shirt alone is probably a hundred dollars, and twenty times as much as Bruce's own Goodwill sweater--the car, which is a sleek Aston Martin painted a specific red and gold; and even in the way he walks--or rather, saunters--confident and smug and expectant.

When Bruce watches Tony, sometimes he sees a flicker in the teen's face, like a mask has slipped by accident and has revealed a certain sadness underneath.  He's intrigued by it--are you like me?--but he'd never have the bravery to speak to Tony Stark.  He might know a lot about gamma radiation and he set the curve in AP Chemistry, freshman year, but nobody notices him.  They all would rather stare and admire the strikingly handsome, rich boy with the reputation of being "experienced" in bed and the penchant for trouble.

There's a rustle around him, and Bruce pulls himself from out of his thoughts to find that everyone is loading their papers into their backpacks and binders, standing and leaving the classroom in packs.  Tony Stark's voice drifts through the doorway, loud and boisterous like usual.  Alone, Bruce picks up his bag and prepares to walk out the door when he feels a hand on his shoulder.  He turns to see Mr. Coulson looking down at him with eyes that seem full of concern.

"Yes sir?"  Bruce gulps nervously.  It's not often that teachers speak to him, and he'd like to keep it that way.

"You seemed a little distracted in class today.  Is there anything wrong?" Coulson asks kindly, and Bruce is suddenly glad that the English teacher will be coming with them on the trip.

He shakes his head quickly, and adjusts the strap of his bag.  He wants to move the weight to his other shoulder, where there are no bruises, but he doesn't want to make Coulson even more inquiring.

"That's good," Mr. Coulson says warmly, and squeezes Bruce's uninjured shoulder.  "If you have any problems, just come to me and we can talk, okay?"

"Okay, sir, yes, sir," Bruce mumbles before shuffling out of the classroom.  He can feel his teacher's eyes burning into his back, and feels a wave of relief when the door finally shuts.  His back hurts from yesterday, when he came home late to see his father once again drunk, but he ignores the pain and walks alone down the hall to the cafeteria.  Sometimes he wishes...he wishes...he just wants to run away.

~-~

Pietro is, to say the least, чертовски обозленный, or damn pissed. As soon as the names "Tony" and "Pietro" came out in the same sentence, he felt like throwing all his books to the floor and kicking his desk over. Was Coulson serious, putting the worst guy on earth in his group? He hates Tony Stark, he hates all Starks, and he especially fucking hates Howard Stark. But family is family, and the apple can't fall far from the tree, so Tony's probably as much a dick as his dad, if not worse.

He stomps down the hall where his twin, Wanda, joins him a few seconds later. "What's wrong?" she asks him in her lilting Russian accent.

He shakes his head, blonde hair flying into his eyes. "It's Stark," he growls. "Fucking Stark, again."

"Did he do something to you? Are you okay?" Wanda, gentle as ever, wraps an arm around him. They look like an odd pair--one with dark eyes and dark hair and the other with hair dyed white-blonde and icy blue eyes, yet with similar features in the nose and the eyebrows and the pale skin.

Pietro shakes his head, nearly spits before remembering that unlike in Sokovia, schools are not dirty or impolite. "That hike," he says in his halting English, "Coulson put Stark in my tent. Of all people! Can he not see how much I hate that asshole?"

Wanda sighs. "Well, you probably won't even talk to him that much. There are three, four other people with you, right? It will be easy to avoid him."

"Not when we are in the same tent, Wanda!" Pietro snaps, before realizing how loud he's being when everyone in the hall turns to glance at him. He lowers his voice, says, "Who did you get?"

"This girl named Virginia," Wanda says, "and Natasha, and Darcy."

Pietro laughs, even though his previous mood still lingers behind his easy facade. "You have a very...tough group."

"They are cool though," Wanda replies, grinning. "Natasha has been teaching me backflips and Darcy has told me the best way to taze someone." She furrows her brow. "Whatever this tazing is."

Pietro shakes his head, amused, and guides Wanda through the crowd of student with his arm slung around her shoulders. The two weave through the mass of bodies until they reach their table in the far corner of the room, where he always sits with Steve, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, and Darcy.

"Hey, Pietro," Steve greets with a smile as the Russian sits down with his sister.

"Hello," Pietro replies, and Wanda gives everyone a warm nod. For the first few minutes, the banter is light and easy, until there's a lull in conversation and Pietro turns to see none other than Tony fucking Stark striding towards them, a lazy smirk on his face.

"I figured I'd get to know all of the people that I'm going to be sleeping in the same tent with for five days," he says as he smoothly inserts himself between Pietro and Bruce. "I'd introduce myself, but you already know who I am."

"Too well, in fact," Pietro snarks. "I know who your father is too, that bast--" Wanda elbows him hard in the ribs, effectively shutting him up. He tosses a glare at his sister, who stares back with equal firmness.

Stark raises his eyebrows, his mouth forming a little "o". "Someone's grumpy today," he comments, pulling out a sandwich and taking a huge bite. "Ah, I love jelly. Best thing in the world. Besides AC/DC, that is."

"What are you doing here?" Pietro asks, having recovered from the elbow. His mood is worsening by the second, and he curls his fingers into fists under the table. As if Wanda can sense his irritation, she covers his knuckles with her palm reassuringly and he almost relaxes for a second. Then remembers that Stark is sitting right next to him, with his thousand dollar clothing pressed against his own ragged shirtsleeve.

Stark shrugs. "I'm gonna be spending a week pressed up against you while lying on the dirt, so I've decided to check you out. See if you're good enough to sleep in the same space as me." He slings an arm easily around Pietro's shoulders.

"Leave Pietro alone," Steve interrupts all of a sudden, narrowing his eyes. Pietro feels a wave of relief that someone is coming to his rescue, even though he'd like nothing more than to simply end this right now with a nice left hook to the jaw.

"Do not touch me, Stark." The name slides from his lips like poison.

Tony shakes Pietro lightly, his arm still locked around the blonde. "C'mon, buddy, lighten up. What's your name, anyway; Pietro, right? The guy twin from Sokovia?"

At the mention of his hometown, so easily said, especially from the very person who ruined his life, Pietro feels a flash of fury so sharp that it cuts down to the bones. He stands up even though he has to twist his body awkwardly in the tiny gap between bench and table edge, towering over Stark.

Stark raises his hands in a placating gesture, a smile still on his face but a little nervous now. "Awh, come on, P, I'm totally harmless, see?"

Pietro sucks in a breath. He can feel Wanda's delicate fingers tugging the hem of his shirt, her low voice telling him to stop, to sit down, but he's too angry now. He ruined your life. He killed your parents, he destroyed your home, he took away everything you've ever known. He deserves to pay.

Now Stark stands, too. "Is someone mwad?" he taunts, purposely stepping closer to Pietro even though he's two, almost three inches shorter.

"Do not talk to me like that," Pietro snaps, glaring at the top of the billionaire son's artfully tousled hair. "You do not know what you have done to me."

"Nothing," Stark shoots back, chuckling. He crosses his arms. "What, am I annoying you because I sat between you and Brucie here?" Bruce shrinks back, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here.

"Fuck off, man," Clint says loudly, gripping the edges of the table with white fingertips. "We don't want you here."

"Is this 'Everyone Be Mad at Tony" Day?" The genius runs a hand through his hair, causing the dark curls to poof up even more. "Because hey, can't say I'm not honored. Any holiday is good enough for me. Do I get, like, coal as a gift?"

Pietro's world goes white. The next thing he knows, there are hands gripping his shirt and yanking him back, and Tony Stark is standing there with his nose bleeding and his eye and cheekbone already black. "Why do you not fight me back?" Pietro says, stepping closer. "Hm? Are you too afraid?"

Stark just stands there, a little frozen. Then he jams his hands into his pockets and walks out of the lunchroom like his feet are anchored to the ground.

~-~

The throbbing in his face has faded to a dull ache, something that Tony finds easy to ignore. He's used to the pain--although, Howard rarely ever whacks him anymore because he's too busy paying no attention whatsoever to his only son. As a result, Tony's pain tolerance has improved immensely over the years, along with his ability to talk about anything in sight if only to keep himself company.

"What happened?"  As soon as Tony enters the office, Mrs. Rogers, who works from noon to five o'clock as the school nurse, stands up immediately from her desk.  If only her son was as nice, Tony thinks irritably.

"Got into a fight.  No biggie," Tony says, shrugging.  Besides Mr. Yinsen, Mrs. Rogers is the only staff member who actually likes him.  Or, at least, acts like she does.  Coulson is okay to him, but the only reason why is because the man is indifferent instead of yelling at Tony all the time.  He still isn't sure if Coulson hates him or not.

"Where's the other boy, then?"  Sarah Rogers smiles fondly over her shoulder as she fills a bag with ice from the freezer.  As much as Tony knows she disapproves of his antics, he likes to think that she almost loves him as a son.  Even though that'll never happen, it's a nice thought.  "I figured you'd have put up a pretty good fight, hm?"

"I didn't fight back," Tony says quietly after a beat of silence.  "It...I didn't feel like...the violence today."  His sentence comes out nonsensible and awkward, but Sarah gets him anyway.  She looks at him with a tender kindness that makes Tony wish that she would adopt him, or something.  She works the night shift at the local hospital, so she's seen him come in enough times with broken bones and bruises and burns that he guesses Sarah's put two and two together by now.  But dear ol' Dad is a wealthy man, and Sarah knows just as well as he does that if she spoke up, she'd probably lose her job.

It doesn't matter anyway, Tony reminds himself.  Other kids have it much worse.  At least I've got money.  Like, take Bruce Banner, the kid with the curly hair and constant twitching and, occasionally, severe anger issues.  He's ninety nine point nine nine nine perfect sure that Banner gets beaten black and blue on a daily basis, but he's never seen any proof.  It's not hard to tell, though.  Plus, all those Goodwill shirts must feel like crap compared to Tony's soft leather and cotton.  If it wasn't for Bruce's violent flinch when Pietro slammed his fist into Tony's face, he wouldn't have regretted taunting the Russian kid at all.  Even though he knows that the guy won't get away with that so easily.

"Just hold that ice to your cheekbone and eye," Mrs. Rogers instructs.  She studies his face critically.  "Your nose has stopped bleeding, but if it starts up again, tilt your head back and hold a tissue to it and you should be fine.  Any pain, any pain at all, and you come to me, Tony, okay?  Don't act like a tough guy to impress everyone.  If you're injured, you need to tell me so I can help you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Rogers," Tony mumbles as he presses the ice to his cheek. 

"Call me Sarah, Tony, dear," Sarah says, smiling at him.  There's a tinge of an unknown emotion in her eyes--sadness, maybe, but why would she be sad?  Maybe it's because she's finally tired of all of Tony's constant stupidity--as he exits the office.

Tony's walking down the hall when he sees a dark figure turning the corner at a breakneck speed.  "Hey, Tones, you alright?  I saw what happened," Rhodey says in a rush, clapping his best friend on the back.

"Yeah, doesn't even hurt," Tony mutters.  "'m fine, Rhodey, you don't have to worry about me."

"If I don't worry about you, who will?"  Rhodey cocks a half-smile.  "Besides Pepper, of course, but she's the mom.  I can be the dad.  But if you say so, man."  He looks at Tony closely.  "You've got a real bruiser right there.  That Russian kid with the white hair, he's the one who socked you, right?  I'm gonna pummel him into the dirt after school.  But, Tones...why didn't you fight back?  I figured you would."  He laughs, wraps his arm around the shorter teen.

"I dunno."  Tony sighs and tosses the ice bag into the air.  Rhodey snatches it mid-fall and grins before handing it back.  "I just...didn't feel like it.  Too much fighting and violence and stuff."

Rhodey winces.  "Yeah.  You sure you okay though?"

"I'm good, I'm good.  Stop worrying, Dad," Tony snarks, jostling Rhodey in the shoulder.

Rhodey rolls his eyes.  "Shut up with that, Tones.  If I ever had a kid with Pepper, we'd have a much better looking baby.  My eyes, her hair...yeah, that'd be such a cute kid."

Tony laughs, and it's easy to forget about the events of today for a second, walking down the hallway casually with Rhodey.  But inside, he hates Pietro.  Why does everyone think he's done something wrong, even before they know him?  Why is Tony always the bad guy, why is Tony always the one who gets slugged in the eye and the face and the nose just for opening his mouth?

He closes his eyes, leaning his head against Rhodey's shoulder.  The ice pack has numbed his skin to the point where he can barely feel his face, so he drops the bag into a nearby trashcan and doesn't stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know...I'm making Pietro seem like a total craptard right now. But don't worry, I love Pietro Maximoff. Also sorry but I love Tony whump, love love love it XD


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pietro and Wanda sibling love.  
> We find out how Tony's home life is.  
> Bruce is awkward but cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see some words that you think should be italicized...you're probably right. When I copied and pasted my chapters, I didn't realize my italics are taken out. Oh wells. I fixed some, but not much.

He can see it in the creases of her forehead, the downturned corners of her mouth, and the angry slant of her eyebrows that Wanda is pissed. No, more than pissed. She's furious.

She snatches Pietro by the elbow and drags him over to the wall next to the bathrooms, surprisingly strong. When had she moved from being his little sister to an independent young woman?

Her dark eyes pierce his blue ones as she glares at him. “Tony Stark is the son of one of the wealthiest men on the planet,” Wanda says fiercely. “He can do anything to us that he wants. Do you not think that Howard Stark will want revenge? Have you ever thought of someone besides yourself? Think of me! Do you know what could happen to us both?”

Pietro swallows, allowing his bangs, bleach-white, to fall into his face. “I...I did not think of that.”

“Of course you did not!” Wanda snaps. “You never use your brain, Pietro!” Then she sighs and wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. “Be more careful, мой брат,” Wanda murmurs. Pietro feels a spark of warmth at the words “moy brat”, _my brother._ They have not used the mother language for oh so long.

“I will,” he tells her softly, like a promise. But he says it in Russian so it comes out “я буду”, _ya budu_ , instead.

~-~

Tony can feel that it's going to be a bad night as soon as he steps through the doorway into his house. The atmosphere pulses with tension, and faintly, he can hear Howard screaming. Already. He makes a face. It's only six o’clock, even though it's surprisingly dark outside, so Howard can't be drunk. It's too early.

Dropping his backpack onto the floor, he quietly turns the corner to see that not only is Howard drunk too early, but his mother is also standing there, face tear-stained and hands trembling. Howard's coffee cup lies shattered in pieces on the floor, brown liquid pooling over the hardwood. Papers slowly soak more and more in the mess, the writing on it already illegible. Tony sucks in a breath, thinks, Shit.

“Huh?” Howard shouts, flinging his arm at the mess. “What do you call this? Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters before spitting: “Can't do anything right, can you. Stupid bitch.”

Tony flinches instinctively, even though he's not even the one whom Howard is mad at.

Howard raises his hand, fingers splayed, and Tony shouts before he can really think things through: “STOP!”

His father turns, sees his son standing frozen in the doorway, and smiles. There's a glint in his eyes, something crazed. “What did you say, Anthony?”

His defiance wins. “I told you to stop, asshole,” Tony blurts before stepping back, cursing his loose cannon of a mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He doesn't even see the punch coming until Howard's fist is already sunk deep into his gut. He hears a strangled noise, thinks vaguely, That was me, before gasping for air. He chokes, doubling over, and a backhanded slap catches his throat. It feels like someone's dropped a huge hairball into his lungs, and when he struggles to say sorry, his voice comes out raspy and hoarse and broken. “I'm sorry, Dad, I'm sorry I'm sorry.” Through the haze of pain, he sees that María is long gone.

He knows that sixteen year olds shouldn't be this weak, so he stifles a sob even as Howard backhands him again, this time across the jaw. He lies on the floor, curls up. Why don't you fight back? he's asked himself thousands of times. Even through it all, is it a lingering sense of love for his dad?

His back flares up in pain from the kicks. Knuckles land on his shoulder, his forearm, cracking against the side of his ribs. Tony clenches his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut. It'll be over soon. It's going to be okay.

  
In the morning, he feels worse than crap. He's sore and aches all over where Howard colored him black and blue yesterday. His throat is a faint green, and there are even some yellow and purple patches on his shoulder. I'm a walking rainbow, Tony thinks bitterly as he yanks a shirt over head. He pulls on a jacket that has a neck long enough to cover his bruised throat.

He wishes Jarvis, his old butler, were here. But Jarvis is long gone, fired personally by Howard Stark two years ago. It still hurts him to think about it. Jarvis was his first real family member in all of his first fourteen years.

“Hi, Mama,” he mutters as he enters the kitchen, hair still tousled from a night of tossing and turning. He purposely tries to forget how she just left her own son to Howard's mercy, and grabs a bagel that he knows tastes horrible. “Why're you up so early? You usually wake up at twelve or one.” Tony fights to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

María Stark looks at him, eyes bloodshot, and shrugs. “Couldn't rest.” A pill bottle sits on the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

Tony stiffens, but he clamps down on the anger that's just flared in his veins. “It was hard to when every time I breathed it hurt,” he says quietly.

“Honey--”

He pushes past his mother, who is feebly calling after him, and feels immediately like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders once the front door closes behind him. María is family, but only by blood. She's motherly to him, he supposes, but not often. Most days she spends passed out in her bedroom with empty cocktail glasses littered on her nightstand and pills scattered across the carpet.

Happy, the latest and best (by Tony's standards) driver, asks, “Ready?” The genius nods wordlessly and gets into the backseat of the sleek Aston Martin. He usually lets Happy drive him to school because the guy can at least lift his spirits. That way, his smiles are a little less forced.

~-~

Bruce closes his eyes. He doesn't need to pinch himself--he knows very well that he's not dreaming--but still...it couldn't hurt to try. It seems like within the span of two days, he's been seeing Stark’s name everywhere, coupled with his. First it was the tent group...now it's bus seating. And of course, of course, Tony Stark is sitting with him. But then, so is Wanda, and maybe Bruce will get lucky and end up with the girl in the middle.

He's only exchanged a few words with the dark haired twin from Sokovia, but fortunately, Wanda seems nice enough as well as the type who would understand Bruce's predicament. But Tony...okay, so, he might have a little tiny crush on the genius. But only because he has one of the most magnificent minds in the world, he's actually pretty muscular from time spent in his workshop, and he's hot.

Bruce feels his face redden. Where had that thought come from? Plus, if Brian Banner wasn't locked up in jail, he would've killed Bruce for having such “homo” thoughts. But Dad isn't here, he has to remind himself silently.

“Hey, Brucie!” he hears all of a sudden. He shoves his glasses self-consciously up his nose but leaves the hair; his curls are such a mess that they'll never get untangled. He turns to see Tony rushing at him with a wide grin on his face.

“I have a proposal!” the genius continues. Without waiting for a reply, he barrels on. “Since you're, like, supersmart--I read your papers on gamma radiation and they're brilliant--and we’re going to be sitting on the bus together and sharing a tent, I thought, why not have a little bonding time?” Tony nudges Bruce lightly. “I can drive you home tonight, my place isn't far and I don't mind taking you home either. So after school? I can show you my workshop, it's really cool and my dad won't be home till seven so we’ll still have like three to four hours--”

“No,” Bruce blurts. His mind barely has time to register Tony's compliment before the rest of the guy’s speech clicks in. “I mean, sorry, that was rude, uhm, sorry...I’m busy tonight,” he blatantly lies. Spending time with Tony Stark might give him a heart attack, if the car doesn't first.

Tony's expression wavers for a second. “It's okay. We can shorten it to one hour. Come on. It'll be fun. Just sixty minutes and you can play with all the science-y toys you want.”

Bruce shakes his head quickly. “I'm busy, sorry,” he says.

Tony bites his lower lip before nodding. “Don't say I didn't offer, though,” he says before turning to retreat.

“Wait,” Bruce says, unsticking the words from his throat. “I...uhm...actually, I think I can do one hour. But just one.”

It's as if someone's flipped the lightbulb in Tony's eyes on; his face lights up immediately like he's just gotten the best Christmas present ever. “Okay, that's perfect,” he says brightly. “I'll come find you at three, ‘kay, Brucie?”

“Y-yeah,” Bruce stammers before taking off as fast as he can without appearing rude. His heart is still thud-thud-thudding like a drum in his chest.

In all honesty, he's both relieved and disappointed that he'd lied about being busy. Maybe if he hadn't, he could spend at least three more hours with the guy. _Well, it's not like I have a chance anyway,_ Bruce thinks to himself. Tony has a well known reputation for being not only a rich genius, but also a playboy, and nobody has ever guessed that he is anything but straight.

Bruce sighs, letting his tangled brown curls flop into his eyes, and hunches his shoulders instinctively. He figures that anything to do with Tony Stark will not end up well for him.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets up with Tony. Bruce also meets up with his friends and they interrogate him on why the heck he would want to hang out with Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little bit short but I'm super tired rn lol

 

 

 

**three**

 

Tony stops himself from scrubbing a hand over his face and settles instead for running his fingers through his hair frustratedly.  Huddled in a janitor's closet with a broom pinning his thighs down, he re-applies the concealer and makeup to his face with one hand.  With the other, he holds his phone up like a mirror, making sure he looks okay.  He would’ve gone to the restrooms and done this if it hadn’t been so full of muscly man-apes hooting and wiping their sweaty, post-PE faces.  (Not to mention that Steve Rogers was one of them.)   _Man, if Howard saw me now--putting on makeup like a girl--he'd flip out,_ he thinks bitterly.  He makes sure to leave his black eye and purple nose though, because it'd be weird if Pietro and his friends saw him and noticed his bruise from the day before had completely disappeared.  It's just the jaw he needs to cover up, this time.  The makeup he’d put on before school had been rubbing off.

Finally done, he puts his ear to the door to make sure no one is coming close or walking past, stuffing his makeup kit into his backpack.  Relieved that it seems to be silent out, Tony slips through the door and flicks off the light--and comes face to face with Mr. Yinsen.

“Anthony?”  The old yet kind looking man looks at him oddly.  “What were you doing in there?”

“Hey, Mr. Yinsen,” Tony says, putting on a smirk.  “Let’s just say...sometimes boys have needs that must be taken care of in private.”

Then he continues to walk past, ignoring his favorite teacher as he leaves down the hall.  It’s time to go find Bruce.  He doesn’t like what the implications of Yinsen’s gaze could mean.  Which is to say, _What does it mean?_

When Tony finally finds the perfect candidate to be his science bro, it’s at the entrance of the school.  Bruce is waiting for Tony nervously, shifting from foot to foot as he pushes his glasses up his nose awkwardly.  Finally, the teen comes scooting out, checking his watch.  “Brucie!  My favorite!” Tony says loudly.  

“It’s three thirty,” Bruce says, glancing at the energetic boy next to him.

“Yeah, I know, sorry,” Tony babbles, “but believe me, all will be forgiven when you see what I have in store.”

They walk over to Tony’s hot rod red Ferrari, which has a gold lightning bolt sort of thing running across either side.  Tony spreads his arms wide.  “This is Betty,” he says happily.  “Betty, meet Bruce.  Bruce, Betty.”

“Um...who?” Bruce stammers.  He looks around.  Is Tony messing with him?

“The _car,”_ Tony says impatiently.  “Betty is _this_ beautiful baby.”  He raps his knuckles against the window of the vehicle.

“Oh, well, nice to meet you,” Bruce says, feeling absolutely and utterly stupid.  “Uh...do I...I’ll get in…”

Tony hops to the side and swings open the passenger door with a flourish.  “After you, Banner.”

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder and Bruce turns around, jumping back instinctively.

“Hey,” Tony says, suddenly a lot more cold, “Don’t do that to my science buddy, Capitan Underpants.”

Steve Rogers frowns down at the billionaire’s son, arms folding into a hard pretzel.  “What are you doing with Bruce?  I thought Pietro made it clear not to harass any of us.”

Bruce opens his mouth, but Tony beats him to it.  “I’m not _harassing_ him,” he says stiffly.  “We’re going to my house to _science.”_ The teen looks Steve up and down slowly.  “Not that you’d understand that.”

Steve grits his teeth.  “Listen here, Stark”--and Bruce sucks in a breath; is he really going to have to watch Tony get beat up for the second time in two days?--when Tony sprints to the driver’s side and gets in.  “Bruce, let’s go!” he hollers.

Bruce looks at Steve.  They’ve never been very close--he’s always felt like an outsider in their tiny, tight-knit group.  But still…

“C’mon,” Tony says, waving impatiently.  “Unless you don’t want to come.  It’s cool, I get it.”  The last part is shot out so fast that Bruce almost misses it.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Steve says.  “That he’s bothering you.”

“He’s not bothering me.”  The teen surprises himself as he says it, but even as his mind struggles to understand what he’s just said, his legs are carrying him to the passenger’s seat.

Steve gapes as Tony grins and shoots up the engine, screeching out of the parking lot.  Bruce doesn’t look back.

 

The drive is short, especially with this smooth and fast car, so within the span of twenty minutes Bruce finds himself standing in the lab of Stark mansion, almost sad that he won’t get to explore anything in this massive place.  “Your house is amazing,” he says quietly.

Tony winks at him.  “Of course it is, I live here.”  Then the genius claps his hands together.  “Okay, so, knock yourself out.  I’m just here for technology, but you’re definitely here for that chemistry shit or whatever you do.”  

Bruce hesitates.  “I’m...I’m allowed to...touch this?” he says, surprised.  Even more so because he can’t believe Tony’s letting him run wild with all of this high-tech, gorgeous equipment.  What if he breaks it?  What if Tony ends up--ends up suing his family?  

“Why wouldn’t you,” Tony says, cocking his head.  He hops up onto a table and picks up a tablet, fiddling with it.  

“Won’t your dad get mad?” Bruce says, but then Tony snorts and shakes his head.  “Fuck no, you think this is his?  All of this I built myself.  The machinery, the tech, everything except for the telescopes and tables and shit.”

Bruce’s eyes widen.  He knows Tony’s a genius.  But seeing the real, touchable products of his genius is something else magical altogether.

Tony seems to like Bruce’s shocked silence and smirks.  “Get to it,” he says.  “I’ve got my own code to work with.”

Bruce’s cell rings.  “Hold on,” he mumbles, “I have to, sorry, I have to take this.”

“Sure,” Tony says, engrossed now with whatever he’s doing on his device.  “Come back when you feel like sciencing, Big Green.”

Bruce doesn’t even bother questioning Tony’s weird nickname.

Outside, with the glass doors slid shut again, he slips his phone from his pocket and checks the caller ID.  It reads, “Clint Barton.”

“Hello?” Bruce says.  “Clint?”

“Steve told me you went home with Tony Stark,” the other boy says incredulously.   _“Tony Stark._ Hey, if he’s blackmailing you or forcing something over your head, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

Bruce shakes his head before remembering Clint can’t see him.  “I, um, I wanted to come.  It’s okay.”

 _“Wanted_ to?” Clint says.  “Why?  And remember, he literally killed Wanda and Pietro’s parents and he’s an asshole and--why?”

For some odd reason, Bruce finds himself getting irritated.  He’s had a therapist for three years now, working with him on his anger issues, and he digs his nails into his palms to tamp down his emotions.  “He’s not so bad.  And that was his dad who killed their parents.”

Clint sputters.  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree though,” the teen says.

Bruce’s blood turns to ice in his veins.  “What?” he says, and has to lean against the wall to calm himself.  “I--I--”

Clint realizes what he’s said, remembers that Bruce’s dad is quite possibly the most disgusting monster he’s ever met (even worse than his own dad who apparently has no ability to stick around), and bursts out, “Oh, God, Bruce, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that--”  
Bruce hangs up.  He’s sick and tired of _“I didn’t mean it like that”s._ He puts his phone back in his pocket and stumbles into the lab, chest knotted up.  

“He’’s back,” Tony exclaims, but the light in his eyes dies when he sees the state Bruce is in.  “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?”  He slides off the bench and puts down his tablet, coming over to Bruce.  His fingers flutter like he’s going to touch him but then changed his mind.

“Nothing,” Bruce says, his voice tight, shaking his head as if that alone could erase what Clint has said--even if by accident.

Tony pauses before hopping up onto the work table, carelessly shoving vials and beakers aside.  “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me.  Shouldn’t have asked.”  Dark brown eyes connect with dark brown.  “But...I’m here if you need to talk, you know.  I get that some people just need to vent sometimes.”

“Do you, ever?” Bruce asks hesitantly, then clarifies, “need to vent.”

“Most of the time,” Tony admits.  “But no point, right?  Putting my shit on other people just because I feel like it.”

“That’s unhealthy.”  

Tony quirks his lips at Bruce.  “I could say the same for you.  You don’t exactly look like someone who likes to talk about themselves, Brucie bear.”

“Brucie bear,” the other boy says dryly.  The banter between the two seems to come as smoothly as butter, and Bruce is grateful for it.  Despite the fact that Clint had spoken carelessly and without really registering what he was saying, he’s still a little shaken about it.   _Thank God for Tony,_ he finds himself thinking.

Tony nods eagerly as if this nickname is the most inventive thing in the world.  “It fits you,” the teenager says.  “You look all fluffy and warm and cuddly but I bet you have some teeth underneath.”

Bruce snorts.  “Maybe.”

Tony claps his hands together and grins.  “Okay, sciencing time for you now, kay?  No more talking about anything else.  You go science and I’ll go tinker.”

Bruce feels something warm expand in his chest, where just minutes previously a knot had been, and picks a slide from the array of samples on the table.  He sneaks a quick glance at Tony, where the teen is already completely engrossed in whatever he’s doing--it seems to be a mini robot, from what Bruce can see.  For the first time in what seems like ages, Bruce smiles a little and feels the happiness of everything swallowing him up in a little cocoon.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment what you think! How do you guys feel about a Science Bros pairing? Or should Tony be with someone else?


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